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Thorne threw himself into the chair across from his supervisor. “This is ridiculous! I’m hardly a catch as third son and a known rake.”

“Third son to a duke and some women would view taming a rake a challenge worthy of their time,” the spymaster stated.

The older man was a friend of the family.

Like Thorne, he wasn’t in line for a lofty title, but had carved his own way.

Lord Vernon was more than his supervisor; he was a friend, mentor, and more father than his own had ever been.

As a young man, he’d been in love with Thorne’s mother, but her father forced her into a more advantageous marriage.

He wondered how different their lives could have been if they could rewrite history.

“Yes, but thankfully, my brothers are still celebrating good health. And besides, why would any self-respecting lady want to marry a self-proclaimed rake, challenge or no? It seems too much of a risk.”

His supervisor snorted. “There is no accounting for some ladies’ taste or what they’re willing to do to marry the son of a duke.”

Thorne groaned. “Last night, two women spooked my informant. I can’t do my duty while fighting off marriage- minded ladies. There was even a woman at my home. She’d convinced my butler that I asked her to wait for me. I had to get my housekeeper and two maids to remove her from my bedchamber.”

The old man guffawed.

“You think it’s funny? I can’t even go home!”

Thoughtfully, the old man pinched some tobacco from a wooden box on his desk and stuffed it into a carved bone pipe.

He lit it, puffing thoughtfully. Thorne was used to Lord Vernon’s methods and tried to wait patiently.

“You need someone to pose as your fiancé. Someone who would convince the other ladies that you’re off the market.

It would have to be someone intelligent and beyond reproach… ”

Thorne rolled his eyes. “Who would willingly agree to a fake engagement?” Thoughts of Birdie flitted through his mind, giving him pause. He shook his head. “I don’t think I could do this without the lady knowing it was fake. I would not play with her heart.”

Lord Vernon studied him, a smile hovering beneath his whiskers. “Who do you have in mind?”

Thorne met his eyes. “Beatrice.”

“Hartley?” He nodded. “Of course it’s Birdie. Yes, she’ll be discreet and will be an asset. But I warn you, Blackwood, you will tell her only what is absolutely necessary. I will not allow you to put my niece in danger.”

Thorne frowned. He was of the belief that the more one knew, the less likely they were to get into trouble. “I will only tell Birdie whatever she needs to know to stay safe.”

Vernon dismissed him with a nod.

Thorne left the man’s office feeling a mixture of dread and giddiness. Even though the betrothal would be fake, the thought of an attachment to Beatrice Hartley left him feeling…hopeful. Now he just had to convince her to help him.